


Left to My Own Devices

by grumblebee



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Anal, Ancient Pompeii, Ancient Rome, Crowley is a pleasure boy, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fingering, Fondling, M/M, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Stripping, being stripped, brothel sex, erotic frescoes, ineffable cock tease, pre-eruption of Vesuvius, two thousand year old nudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 11:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21073961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: While trying to win favors with Roman senators, Aziraphale runs into Crowley outside a little theater in Pompeii, offering certain services that benefit them both.





	Left to My Own Devices

It was long thought that the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum, via the violent eruption of Mount Vesuvius, happened sometime in the month of August of 79AD. This is false. But Aziraphale already knew that long before archeologists found a Roman inscription dating to a much later point of eruption. In fact, he was there that fateful October 26th, 79 AD, as well as the few weeks leading up to it...for better or worse. 

* * *

_ Pompeii, October 79AD _

One could not simply live on miracles alone. The joy that blessings came with were precious, but fleeting, especially in the tumultuous decades following the crucifixion of Christ. Aziraphale found that out the hard way, stationed in Rome in 41AD with nothing more to do than drink wine and sample the latest cuisine. It wasn’t the worst life, Aziraphale would find. Quite the opposite, in fact. Routinely enjoying social gatherings opened new doors for him, with more powerful ears willing to give him and heaven a bit more time. 

But chasing pleasures came at a price, and for Aziraphale that meant following the rich and powerful down the Italic Peninsula, hoping to carry out his divine orders. That is precisely how Aziraphale found himself in Pompeii, mid October (then considered November—but calendars and caesars never mixed well), with nothing but time on his perfectly manicured hands. And what else does one do with time than go to the theater?

“Wine! Grapes! Honey and figs!” 

“Show to begin shortly, gentleman!” 

Aziraphale hurried along the stone streets, hopping over the great crossing stones down the main throughway of Pompeii. He had been in Pompeii nearly a week, but still had not quite found his way around. The city was sprawling, home to thousands, all of whom seemed to diverge at the theater on any given day. But today would be his first performance, and in the presence of two local politicians looking for support in the upcoming election. They required recommendations, and Aziraphale had made himself known in Rome as a man whose choice picks won the senate. 

Finding the entrance, Aziraphale paused, looking around as the crowd parted around him. He’d learned not to look too eager. Rich men never showed up on time, or empty handed. Here, luxury was the key to fitting in, and Aziraphale needed that in order to go about his business. He fingered a coin in his hand, contemplating a cup of wine to hold during the show. Something slow he could sip while listening to his two new friends convince him of their policies, though his orders were already quite clear: appear fair, and choose whomever is most tolerant of the newest, most vengeful God on the scene, and don’t get crucified for it. Aziraphale shuddered. Definitely get the wine. 

The wine cart was not very far, tucked right into the corner along a wall lined with arches, each outlining a niche recess into the wall. Each arch was decorated with a billowing white linen, some drawn loosely across the arch, while others remained open to allow pedestrians to see what was offered: sex. A woman—or man— stood in each archway, leaning luxuriously against the stone, making eyes at anyone who might meet them. This was another reason why rich men were often late to the theater. Of course, for Romans this was nothing scandalous. A little romp before a show was accepted, and in some circles encouraged. Your tastes were not aligned as ordinary or unordinary depending on which person you pulled behind the curtain, though the thought of copulating behind a thin piece of linen in a crowded square made Aziraphale turn scarlet. And the cat-calling, good lord, he knew it was a business pitch but he’d rather not have people watch him politely turn down the offer. It could be bad for his business… Best for everyone if he just kept his eyes to the ground with the coin clenched in his fist until he reached the wine cart—

“Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale paused, looking up from his sandals to see who else but that wily little demon of his. Well, not  _ his _ , but...one that seemed to be assigned to encountering him. Quite often. He stood in one of the archways, lithe figure leaning against the stone like the coy snake he was meant to be. His hair was just as Aziraphale had seen him last, sheared short into the Flavian curls that had finally come into fashion. 

“Oh! Craw—  _ Crowley _ , I mean. What brings you here?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley smiled, one hand fiddling with the front of his black robes. It drew Aziraphale’s attention downward, noting for the first time Crowley’s manner of dress. Loose, billowy robes just skimming his slender frame. Only one clasp at his shoulder, unlike Aziraphale’s two, for quick undressing.Just a quick flick of the wrist and the whole thing would fall away.Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hot. 

“You’re, erm, in town for a quick temptation then, I see.” He stammered, trying hard to keep his eyes to Crowley’s, despite the dark tinted lenses obstructing them. Though not dark enough for Aziraphale to miss the faint gleam of amber eyes raking up and down his figure. 

“It can be as long as they like.” Crowley quipped, flashing a toothy grin. Aziraphale laughed nervously. What exactly was he to do about this? Wish him luck in his endeavors, grab his wine, and go? It was hardly appropriate to sit beside him for the show—especially given the roles they happened to play for their respective missions. Crowley seemed hardly bothered by it, playing the part of an interested party all too well for Aziraphale. 

“So what do you say? We still have time before the show.” 

“Wh— absolutely not! This is highly inappropriate—-“ Aziraphale balked, only lowering his voice as he noticed heads turning. 

Perhaps not the right time or place to yell about this particular activity. “What I mean to say is...I’ve already had my fill.” Excellent lie, but not good enough it seemed. 

“Oh?” Crowley said, clicking his tongue as if to drive the point home. “But you’ve got a coin in hand.” Aziraphale looked down at the coin, it’s betrayal glinting in the sunlight. He curled it into the safety of his fist, puffing out his chest defiantly. 

“This is for  _ wine,  _ not  _ company.” _

Crowley pouted, his long slender fingers twiddling with the pin that clasped his whole outfit together. “Perhaps I’m thirsty too. One coin and a couple of minutes would fix that, dear sir.” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to click his tongue.

“Oh  _ please. _ We both know you’re not in want of money. Our sides have seen to that. I won’t be fooled that easily.” He clenched the coin in his fist, now finding it a struggle to not press it into Crowley’s palm. Crowley sighed.

“Oh, I know. You turned me down in Eden, remember? Figured the whole world had gone to pieces, garden was vacated, might as well enjoy a little romp before we’re both smited. But no, you refused my offer...and yet, the whole world seemed to continue on, didn’t it?” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“It did. But that didn’t make it  _ right _ . I was right to turn you down.” 

“And in Rome?” Crowley asked, his gaze stronger and hungrier. “When you invited me for oysters. The noises you made, the wine we had, that hand of yours fell right on my thigh and yet—-“

“I turned you away.”

“You did.” Crowley said, his voice dripping with the kind of want that kept rich men crawling past that flimsy curtain on their knees. “I wish you had stayed. I’d have shown you a thing or two.” 

Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt. He had led Crowley on that day. Both of them drunk, reeling from the trials of their respective positions, Aziraphale reaching for something warm and solid to steady himself on. And for a split moment he thought of taking him up on his offer, but fear had sobered him up. 

Well, now he was sober, and had to make a real decision. Turn away now and be done with this, or step inside the curtain and do to Crowley what he’d thought about most of his lonely nights. The temptation was great...almost too great...but he was an angel. He had to do better. 

“Forgive me for not jumping into bed with someone with a reputation of being persuasive.” Aziraphale said. “No offense.” Crowley shrugged.

“Forgive me for offering a good cover for a man who has been arguing with a pleasure boy for the past minute.” Crowley eyed the crowd, noting the heads that had been turning since their exchange began. “No offense, but it’s rather odd that a man of your social status has not stepped inside yet. People might talk.” 

Aziraphale grimaced at the coin now laying in his open sweaty palm. “We wouldn’t want that…” he grumbled. Good lord was this happening?

“Not at all.” Crowley said. He grabbed ahold of the curtain, unhooking it from its place so that it was free to fall in front of the niche. “Step inside, let me cover this.” Oh, it was happening. Aziraphale stepped forward, placing the coin in Crowley’s outstretched hand, publicly making his decision known. As the metal touched skin it was like the world around them sighed, business as normal resuming as an ordinary rich man and a pleasure boy slipped behind the curtain. 

Sunlight diffused behind the curtain, casting a soft glow on the two as they made space for one another. Aziraphale backed himself against the wall, equal parts thrilled and mortified at what was unfolding. On the one hand, this was  _ Crowley.  _ Quick-witted, seductive Crowley who had held a special place in his fantasies since he gestured to a shady palm in the center of Eden and suggested laying Aziraphale down beneath it. On the other, it really  _ was Crowley.  _ Cast out of Heaven, and for good reason. Surely there was something about him God found so traitorous that She cast him out. He could be struck down the moment their lips touched. But then again...hadn’t they already touched. In Rome? Here in the square as money changed hands and the hand on the small of his back ushered him behind this curtain?

And oh, this flimsy curtain. A single, sun bleached sheet of linen that was supposed to shield them from the world. And Aziraphale was expected to just trust in it—in Crowley—- and hope the whole thing wouldn’t come tumbling down and expose him to the world. As Crowley presses against him, hands skimming down his sides, it felt like they could already see. 

“Crowley, I—-“ Aziraphale breathed. “I’m—“

Crowley bent low, kissing a tender spot below Aziraphale’s ear. His hands had found the soft curve of Aziraphale’s hips, and squeezed playfully. 

“We can stop if you like.” Crowley mumbles against his skin. “I wasn’t planning on taking your coin, anyway.” Aziraphale let out a shuddered sigh as Crowley nipped at his earlobe. “Or I can give you a little taste of what’s to come.”

“A taste?” Aziraphale croaked. Wasn’t the deed being done here? Wasn’t that the idea? Crowley hummed in agreement, pressing himself flush against Aziraphale. 

“You’ve made me wait, now I’d like to make you wait. Ten minutes until showtime isn’t enough for me. What about you?” Crowley’s hand dropped low, ghosting the outline of Aziraphale’s already hard cock. Without thinking, Aziraphale pushed his hips forward, meeting Crowley’s touch.

“Not enough time” Aziraphale whispered, afraid someone might hear. Crowley’s eyes glimmered behind his glasses, and he promptly got to work. Deft fingers found their way into the folds of Aziraphale’s robe, grasping his cock firmly and applying a few strokes. Aziraphale gasped, his lips caught in a breathless kiss as Crowley descended upon him. He truly was a persuasive being, tongue twisting and coaxing Aziraphale to kiss him deeper and deeper, until Aziraphale’s hands were clutching at his back or buried in the short curls atop his head. 

Pinned between the wall and a very hard place, Aziraphale was helpless but to return the favor, his hands fumbling to Crowley’s narrow waist, squeezing him to urge him onward. Crowley growled in return against his lips, catching the plush bottom one between his teeth as he broke away. He looked Aziraphale over hungrily. 

“There. Now you look the part.” He whispered, peeling himself off Aziraphale and straightening his robes. Aziraphale stood in breathless silence, his mind too hazy to comprehend what was happening. 

“Wh—“

“Your show, Aziraphale, it’s just begun. Just enough time for you to grab that cup of wine and make a luxuriously fashionable entrance.” Aziraphale felt a weight in his palm, and looking down he found the coin he had just handed to Crowley a few minutes prior. “Go on, now.” Aziraphale caught his breath, aware at what a mess he must look. Lips swollen from kissing, hair tousled by fingers, his hardness tenting the loose folds of his robes. Crowley seemed to like the view.

“I meant what I said, angel. Ten minutes is hardly enough time. Meet me at the brothel after your show for a nightcap. I promise it’s worth your time.” 

Aziraphale struggled to find his voice, the coin in his hand practically burning a hole in his palm. “There’s twenty-seven brothels in town. How will I find you?” He croaked. Crowley stepped forward, his hand cupping Aziraphale’s crotch and giving one last squeeze. 

“You follow this.” Crowley said, his voice sweet as honey. “And I’ll be waiting.” He then parted the curtain, letting in the glaring light of sunset. Aziraphale scrambled out of the niche, fixing himself so as to not walk into the theater at full attention. Crowley leaned against the archway, his lips turned up in a knowing smile.

“Don’t try too hard. You want them to know.”

Aziraphale blushed. He  _ was _ right, but he didn’t have to say it. Without another word Crowley waved him off, signaling to Aziraphale and any spectators that their transaction was completed, and Aziraphale was grateful for it. Coin still in hand, he scurried to the wine cart, picked a cup of something strong, and headed to his seat. It was hard not to feel eyes upon him, all citizens of Pompeii catching sight of his kiss swollen lips, and gait wide enough to almost hide his arousal. He sat hurriedly behind his two “friends”, both politicians ready to win his favor, hoping to just settle in and enjoy the show—perhaps forget the scorching memory of Crowley’s touch a moment—but to no avail. One politician turned in his seat, taking all of Aziraphale in before smirking. 

“Pre-show pleasures tonight?”

Aziraphale took a luxurious sip of his wine, his eyes on the stage in a feat of collective calm.

“And afters.” 

* * *

Ask Aziraphale about any show he’s seen, and he can recall it in great detail. Plot, costume, actors, as far back as when man first stepped on stage and transformed into someone else. But for this show he could not remember a goddamn thing. 

No sooner did the performance end was Aziraphale on his feet, trying not to look eager as he stepped down the stone steps and out to the exit. His two new “friends” would have to understand. In fact, his leaving would only leave them fighting for his attention next time they met. Tonight, however, Aziraphale only wanted the attention of one man. Or, to be truthful, a demon masquerading as a man. 

Swept into the street by a current of people, Aziraphale struggled to find his bearings. How on earth was he supposed to find this brothel? Crowley’s advice had been thrilling, but cryptic all the same. Follow his—-good lord. It’s not like it can point the way. It’s a cock not a beacon. Aziraphale was just about to call it quits and go home for a good wank when he stumbled over a raised stone in the street. He glanced down, noticing a light emanating from it and highlighting its shape—a sizable stone cock. Right there in the street. 

“Cheeky bastard.” Aziraphale said, taking off in the direction of its glowing head. As promised, it pointed the way, leading him down a small crooked street where the walls seemed to press too close for comfort, until the sound of giggling filled the air. Glancing up about the door, Aziraphale saw a telltale sign of good luck and amorous wishes—-another stone cock above the doorway.

“Found the place alright, angel?”

Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin. In the dark he could barely make out most faces on the street, but the fiery amber of Crowley’s eyes cut through the night. He had abandoned his dark lenses, perhaps so Aziraphale could fully see the hunger in his serpentine gaze. 

“Perfectly. Your, erm,  _ advice _ proved very useful.” He said, glancing around the alley. Though a few figures leaned in the shadows, no one seemed to notice—or care—- about their encounter. Hopefully no one else was watching. Crowley beckoned Aziraphale forward.

“Always nice to hear. My advice is rarely appreciated.” Crowley turned aside, allowing Aziraphale room to squeeze past him in the doorway and enter the brothel—which he did wordlessly. 

To be honest, this was not Aziraphale’s first time in a brothel. Miracles brought him to all manner of places—whether that be a villa, royal chambers, or the common backroom. Many women have endured miraculously easy births by Aziraphale’s side, and more often than not men put their cup of wine down permanently and turned to piety. But brothels were contested turf, and more often than not Aziraphale avoided them if only to spare himself the unpleasantness of dealing with other demons. 

There was only one demon Aziraphale cards to deal with, and right now he was guiding him by the hand towards the back of the brothel. 

“No need for the menu, angel, I’d like to do a little of everything.” Crowley crooned, guiding Aziraphale around the tight corners of the brothel. Each corridor had a few rooms, all veiled by another linen curtain. The only indicator of each room was a lewd fresco above the door, meant to inspire or encourage certain positions. It was all private enough that one had to peek around the curtains to get a good look, but thin enough that the sounds of pleasure floated out into the corridor. Aziraphale felt something warm stoke in his belly at the sounds of skin on skin and scattered moans. In a few moments that would be him, and no one would think the wiser. 

The room Crowley led him to was small; just enough space for a cot draped in linens, a table with candle, and a small table adorned with a jug of wine, bottle of oil, and small washbowl. The essentials. Aziraphale stepped inside, his heart threatening to hammer through his ribs and out of his chest. Crowley drew the linen curtain across the doorframe, granting Aziraphale the loose privacy he desperately deserved.

“Now then,” Crowley said, his fingers teasing the thin pin at his shoulder that kept his robes together. “What would you like me to do?” Aziraphale felt himself twitch beneath his robes, his arousal already apparent as he fixated on the pin. Dear God, how long had he thought of this? Too many times to count. And now that they were here, he could only manage a single word to describe his fantasy.

“ _ Everything.” _

Crowley plucked the pin from its place, his black robes dropping from his body to form an inky pool at his ankles, leaving nothing but pale, exposed skin. Oh, it took Aziraphale’s breath away. Even without a stitch of clothing, Crowley held himself like an emperor; confidant, proud, oozing with an appeal that drove Aziraphale up the wall. He let his gaze rake over Crowley’s naked flesh, sizing up the litheness of his figure, or the way his hips cocked at just the right angle to show himself off. He had been doing this for a while, Aziraphale presumed, and it looked ravishing on him. 

“You’re...quite beautiful, my dear.” Aziraphale stammered, suddenly aware of how long and awful his silent stare was. “I’m certain my reveal will pale in comparison.” Crowley huffed, as though comically annoyed by Aziraphale’s comment. The demon stepped forward, hips swaying, so that they stood chest to chest.

“Let me be the judge of that.” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale quieted, watching in silent awe as Crowley worked his robes. The first clasp was undone slowly, and Crowley made a meal of drawing the richly dyed fabric off inch-by-inch. “What a lovely shade this is…” Crowley remarked, holding up the swath of cloth as though at market. “It suits a rich and powerful man as yourself.” Aziraphale blushed shyly.

“I’m no powerful man…” he said softly. Crowley smirked.

“Not without these fine robes you’re not.” The dyed fabric was tossed aside, leaving Aziraphale in the plain white robe he wore beneath it, held by a single clasp on his shoulder, just as Crowley once had. “In fact…” Crowley snatched the pin, causing Aziraphale’s robes to fall free and expose his nakedness “...you and I look rather alike.” 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or mortified, standing there in nothing but his sandals. Modesty prompted him to cover himself, but Crowley’s hands found his wrists before he could do so. His amber eyes looked him over slowly, as if drinking in every detail from the dip of his collar bone to the soft patch of white blonde hair above his stiff cock. 

“ _ Divine.” _

Without another word Crowley leaned forward, catching Aziraphale’s lips in a rough kiss that nearly knocked him off his feet. The two stumbled back, making their way to the cot that pressed against the back of Aziraphale’s knees. Aziraphale laid back, welcoming the warm solid weight of Crowley on top of him, their hands roaming tirelessly.

Crowley’s kisses made their way south, and Aziraphale watched in anticipation as the demon teased his way down his body, stopping every so often to lick or suck at his pale flesh. By the time Crowley reached his cock, Aziraphale was practically shaking.

“Don’t get overly excited, angel.” Crowley said, his breath warm and wet against the sensitive head of Aziraphale’s cock. “If you’re going to ride me, I need all of you here.”

“Ride?!” Aziraphale balked. He had no time to follow up, however, as his cock was busy sliding down Crowley’s throat. “Oh,  _ goodness—“ _ Crowley huffed around the appendage, almost as if to remind Aziraphale that  _ goodness _ was not one of his services. His hands moved to Crowley’s hair, tugging at the curls as that serpentine tongue licked and coiled around him. Damn it all, Aziraphale wanted that tongue everywhere. His mouth, his cock, his hole. He wanted Crowley to taste him, make a meal of him. It couldn’t happen soon enough. All this time waiting and he couldn’t be touched fast enough.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you” Crowley said, his chin slick with spit as he stroked Aziraphale. “With this cute little cock. It suits you.” Aziraphale whined in response, spreading his legs wider in a wanton display. Crowley’s gaze flicked down towards his hole. 

“What to do with you…” he mused. Aziraphale watched on as Crowley grabbed the vial of oil, slicking up a finger. He slid his hand down the curve of Aziraphale’s ass, finger brushing over the sensitive hole, teasing him. “Does Heaven know they’ve got a dirty little angel?”

Normally, Aziraphale would never discuss it—not even as a jest. His indulgent, hedonistic desires were simply a means to accomplish his divine orders. But here, splayed on his back with his legs wide open, hungry to accept the cock of a demon he’d been lusting after, he felt the dirtiest he’d ever been. And he  _ loved it. _

“N-no” Aziraphale whined. Crowley quirked an eyebrow, rolling his next thought around his tongue like a marble. 

“No? So there’s no…mmph...archangels, perhaps, that know a certain principality likes to strip for demons?” Aziraphale shook his head, the image of himself pulling the pin on his robes instead of Crowley flooding his mind. Oh, to be so bold. To give into that exhibitionist desire and give himself over to Crowley at a moment’s notice. His untouched cock jerked at the thought, and Crowley took notice.

“Does that excite you, angel? The idea of stripping for me?” Crowley purred, slipping one finger inside Aziraphale. Aziraphale gasped, arching his back as he adjusted to the sensation. “Or is it the idea of being exposed. To be seen for what you are…” he crooked a finger inside Aziraphale, drawing out a gasp. “...a dirty, hungry little angel who wants to ride my cock.”

Aziraphale moaned loudly, his mind spinning at the rush of fantasies that filled his mind. Curse Crowley for knowing him so well. All those shameful little desires seemed to surface around him, how silly and desperate he must have looked all the time. But the heat of embarrassment was overwhelmed by desire, and Aziraphale pushed himself back onto Crowley’s finger, begging for more.

“ _ Please”  _ Aziraphale breathed. “Don’t tease me.”

Crowley brought his hand down on Aziraphale’s flank with a playful smack, sending a delightful jiggle through the flesh. 

“I’ve had enough teasing, thanks. I’d much rather get down to business, don’t you?” He said, moving the finger inside of Aziraphale. To say he was being stretched in the normal, human way, would be a lie. Aziraphale knew that their time together was brief—and perhaps that’s why Crowley opted to press inside of him and relax him with a little demonic miracle of his own. In the end Aziraphale didn’t mind. He just needed a good ride.

“We’ll have to swap.” Crowley said, laying down in the small space between Aziraphale and the wall. “If you’re getting on top, that is” Aziraphale cleared his throat nervously, picking himself up off the bed.

“Is that—good? Nice feeling, that is, I’ve never...tried it.” 

Crowley stretched out on the cot, hands tucked behind his head casually as though he weren’t buck nude and fully erect. “Fantastic feeling. You’ll have control of how deep and fast I go. And in the event that someone asks...you could be thwarting my attempts of seduction.” 

Aziraphale pulled a face. “Thwarting would be a rather loose term, what with our parts interlocking, and bucking wildly.” Crowley shrugged. 

“They’ll carve statues of our valiant struggle. Call it wrestling and it’s guaranteed.” He untucked his hands from their place behind his head, dragging them down the front of his chest and stomach, following the sharp V of his hips to his cock. “Now or never, angel. Which will it be?”

Had Aziraphale any sense beyond the throbbing in his loins, he would have turned this offer down. But this was the last and final offer, and Aziraphale did not want to walk away this time.

“Now.”

Aziraphale carefully climbed into the cot, swinging his leg over to straddle Crowley’s hips. Crowley’s hands landed on Aziraphale’s hips in return, fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

“Go slow.” He said, his voice much softer and kinder. “As slow as you need.” Aziraphale nodded, and slowly sank back onto Crowley’s cock. He let out a long sigh, his hips widening their stance as he took Crowley inch-by-inch. The stretching burn soon ebbed, and an intriguing sense of fullness replaced it. With his palms planted on Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale rolled his hips forward.

“ _ Oh my— _ “

Lights sparked behind his eyes as Crowley’s cock moved inside him. One roll wasn’t enough, and Aziraphale initiated another. And then another. Slow, slow, and then fast in an uptick of enthusiasm. Beneath him, Crowley’s hands guided Aziraphale’s waist, nudging them up so that Aziraphale lifted himself, only to drop down harder and deeper onto Crowley. Crowley let out a gasp as Aziraphale moved forward, finding the confidence to bounce a little on his own.

“You look divine like this” he breathed, matching his thrusts to Aziraphale’s, bouncing him on his cock. “Riding me like this...I could do it forever.” If Aziraphale was being honest, so could he. Crowley hit him hard and deep, and with every nudge of his hips Aziraphale felt Crowley press inside him. Insecurities melted away, the pure desire to be seen, touched, and fucked by Crowley winning him over. It didn’t matter if it was here, or that niche in the wall, or heavens—-even right in the center of town—- Aziraphale just wanted these hands on him. 

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, their breathless pants and cut off swears only adding to the collective cacophony of the brothel. Perhaps, no one would even hear Aziraphale moan Crowley’s name—which he did several times. And Crowley moaned Aziraphale’s in return. 

“Aziraphale, I’m close…” Crowley said, one hand fumbling from Aziraphale’s hip to stroke the hard cock bobbing between them. Aziraphale moaned, leaning back to allow Crowley to stroke him as they reached their climax, giving Crowley full view of himself as he came. He spurted over Crowley’s fist, his seed landing on Crowley’s chest and stomach, pushing Crowley over the edge. Aziraphale gasped, feeling himself fill with Crowley’s release as he rode out his orgasm. The two twisted and bucked, holding onto each other as the last waves of pleasure broke and retreated.

“Nice work, angel.” Crowley managed, his voice hoarse. “Very...very nice work.” Aziraphale let out a breathless laugh, leaning forward to press his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck. He wasn’t quite ready to pull off yet. 

“A formidable struggle. Who won?”

Crowley laughed. “We’ll let history decide.”

* * *

History did decide. October 26th, 79AD, only a handful of days after the anniversary of the creation of the world—it was decided. The sky had turned dark, a great plume of ash and smoke shooting up into the sky over what was once believed to be a lovely mountain. Now it was an active volcano. 

Aziraphale had slipped away during the initial rumblings, politicians in tow as they made their way to Rome for their senate recommendations. By the time the sky turned dark, Crowley made himself scarce. Before they knew it, word arrived that the villages of Pompeii and Herculaneum were no more. They were buried under meters of ash and debris, never to see daylight again. The scales had balanced themselves, erasing any trace of the memory of their coupling. 

Well, not entirely.

Thousands of years later, Pompeii would resurface. Over centuries of excavation, the last moments of the citizens of Pompeii would be revealed. The theater would once again feel fresh air. The roads and winding streets bathed in sunlight. And a little brothel on a crooked street would be unearthed, complete with erotic frescoes. And Aziraphale would find himself avoiding the topic in Heaven entirely, mortified at the discovery of an erotic fresco of two men; one blond riding atop a dark haired man, above the room they had shared. 

“Looks nothing like us.” Crowley reassured, having gone for a closer look. “I was never that tan.” Aziraphale scowled at his teacup, stirring it nervously.

“And my hair was never that golden. But people might  _ talk. _ ” 

Crowley sat back in the cozy chair Aziraphale kept in his shop, a pleased grin upon his face. “And if they do...if it’s all over anyway...how about one for old times sake?” Aziraphale set down his teacup, the urge to break their millenniums old dry spell overwhelming. 

“I’ll let you know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe I wrote this all on vacation shortly after visiting Pompeii? I have no moral backbone.


End file.
